Redemption
by Robin-Song95
Summary: As season 3 nears, my telling of what happened to John after Sherlock jumped. The reunion was in sight. But Sherlock had one loose end left to tie up. Unfortunately Sebastian Moran might just be clever enough to strike Sherlock where it will hurt the most, John. No Johnlock.
1. Aftermath

"_Redemption"_

_By Robin-Song95_

**Summary: As season 3 nears, my telling of what happened to John after Sherlock jumped. How he coped and survived until of course, the truth came out. Possible Johnlock.**

**AN: So I don't really know where this story will go guys. I've got a vague outline in my head of what's going to happen but the events in between are subject to my whims of the moment. Right then this will likely be the longest AN you'll ever get from me. So here we go:**

**Flames will be used with chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows for s'mores.  
**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. And most certainly not Sherlock or anything affiliated with it.  
**

**Warnings: Violence, Possible Slash (Johnlock), Language, And sad John Watson.**

********Also my stories are fanfiction, yes people fanfiction. I've read a lot of it on here on various fandoms and also seen the movies/tv shows and read the books for the different fandoms I may write for. That means my work, just like everybody else's is subject to influence by what I've read, seen, experienced, ect. However if this looks similar to an idea or story that someone else had, let me know and I will gladly give them credit. That goes for my stories as well, you wanna use an idea or something please do ask first. It's only polite.**

_Chapter 1: Aftermath_

John wearily closed the apartment door behind him. The bleak room that greeted him, so similair to the accommodations he had lived in when he'd first returned to London, made him long momentarily for his former lodgings on Baker Street. Those days though were gone, buried under the cold black headstone along with his best friend.

It'd been a year now, well almost a year, next week was the anniversary. John hadn't lasted two weeks in the flat by himself. It had been after a desperate month of looking hopefully at every flash of a black coat or glimpse of dark curly hair, After slowly feeling like he was going insane, that he'd found the will, somehow, to move out of the flat. He'd made his apologies to the understanding Mrs. Hudson and taken his things, moving back across London to cheaper accommodations.

As far as he knew, Mycroft had kept up the rent on the flat, stating that if he ever needed it, he could go back. John honestly doubted that he would though

The change in scenery had helped a lot. He now worked in the E.R. of one of the smaller London hospitals. The shifts were long and the work challenging enough that most of the time, he could forget what he had lost.

A knock at the door he had been staring at for the past half hour, had him rising from his chair, hand moving on instinct to draw his gun, before he realized he didn't have it, and likely didn't need it. This wasn't one of Sherlock's, he winced the name still hurt to say, weird clients. It was probably just the crazy cat lady next door wanting some sugar.

He opened the door to a rather, unusual sight. A young man stood in his doorway, homeless, though John might not have noticed the signs that told him that just a few short years ago. After all, one cannot follow in the footsteps of Sherlock Holmes, let alone live with the man for over a year, without learning something. They stood there, staring at each other, neither willing to break the silence that had fallen.

Finally John shifted slightly and with an internal sigh, motioned the man inside.

"Do you need anything? Tea? Water? I'm afraid I don't have much else…." John asked as he opened a cupboard, yup he was right: tea, bottled water, and a box of biscuits that the mice had made short work of. He looked back to see the man sitting in the desk chair that John himself had recently vacated, shaking his head.

"No thank you Mr. Watson I just got into a bit of a scrap on the way and you were closer than the 'ospital." The man said and John blinked slightly in surprise,

"Alright then, I don't have much here in the way of supplies but I'll do what I can." The man nodded and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a cut running from his wrist halfway to his elbow.

John quickly rummaged through his medical bag, that he had left by the door after his last shift, to find the supplies he would need. He set everything down next to the man and got to work.

~Time Skip~

As John finished winding the bandage he finally asked,

"So you know my name, and where I live. Judging by your inclination to come here, and your attire, I'm assuming you're one of Sherlock's network then?"

The man, who he still didn't have the name of, looked hesitant about answering,

"Aye, Mr. Watson, we've been keeping an eye out for you like he asked." He carefully replied. John growled slightly,

"Mycroft, His arrogance knows no bounds! I told him to leave me well enough alone! It's bad enough he bothered me before Sherlock," John paused for a moment in grief before continuing in a softer voice, "It's bad enough what he did before but he has no right to continue to interfere with my life now."

The man looked at John askance and decided not to correct the Doctor as to which Holmes brother he was referring to. He'd get enough trouble from the man just for being here. Though he knew he would be interrogated for answers pertaining to how the doctor was doing after the lecture and disapproving looks.

John packed up his supplies and walked the man to the door,

"I'm glad you stopped by-?" At John's significant look the man blinked and answered, "Skif, Sir." He supplied. John smiled and continued,

"I'm glad you stopped by Skif, this could have gotten nasty had you left it be. If something like this happens again," he hesitated slightly before finishing, but this he reasoned would be something he could do for, in honor of Sherlock, "Feel free to stop by, that goes for the rest of you too, you understand? He wouldn't want you all to not be taking care of yourselves." And deep down, he knew that was true. Sherlock had cared about the people that he let into the metal fortress that was his heart.

Skif grinned at him and left. John closed the door and started to prepare himself a cup of tea, feeling better than he had in a long time.


	2. Reverse Routine

"_Redemption"_

_By: Robin-Song95_

_**(***Same warnings and such apply as noted in the first chapter.)**_

_**And at this point, sorry for all you Johnlock fans out there, but this story will not include it.**_

Chapter 2: Reverse Routine

Two weeks after meeting Skif, John stepped out onto the busy sidewalk outside the hospital and started the walk home. As he moved into the more residential area's the foot traffic thinned out and darkness began to fall. John let himself into the building and as he climbed the stairs to the 3rd floor, he was just happy that he didn't have to work the night shift today. It was always harder to sleep during the day in his room because the sun shown right in his window for most of the morning right after he would just be getting done with a long shift and just want to sleep.

Sleep, was exactly what John was planning but the figure sitting outside his doorway let him know that he likely would not get to do so right away. He approached slowly and the woman stood up to greet him,

"Dr. Watson? The name's Raven, Skif sent me when he saw the burn I got." She said nervously, hands clasped together neatly in front of her. Though her one sleeve was rolled up and John could indeed see a bad burn just below her elbow.

John smiled at her in greeting and reached into his pocket. Pulling out the apartment key he slid it into the lock and jiggled it a bit. Once unlocked, he opened the door and motioned her in. He quickly poured her a glass of water and grabbed his medical bag. As he opened it to grab out what he would need he realized that he wasn't tired anymore.

He smiled bitterly to himself as he pulled out the burn cream and bandages. Just like old times indeed. Still he had agreed to help the Network if they needed it. He remembered how invaluable they had been on cases before Sherlock- He paused a moment realizing that the pain wasn't as bad this time when he thought of his friend. Is this what his therapist had meant when she mentioned the grieving process? Was there finally going to be a day when he could think of the man and only remember the good with that last dreadful phone call and the image of him falling just a dim shadow in the background?

"Dr. Watson?" Raven's tentative question breaking into his thoughts. He cursed himself slightly for forgetting that she was in the room and that she was wounded.

"Right then, I'm so sorry Raven. I just seem to get lost in my thoughts some times." John apologized and started to treat the burn. Raven smiled slightly and replied,

"It's okay Dr. Watson, I remember doing the same when my brother died." She looked down at him with a shadow of lingering grief in her eyes, "It gets better over time, stops hurting as much. But you never really do forget. He was eighteen, killed by a drunk driver on his way home one night. My parents kicked me out not long after." John smiled grimly up at her,

"I'm sorry to hear that Raven, were you close?" he inquired as he unrolled the bandage. She smiled fondly in memory,

"Yeah we were, we were only about a year apart and he was one of those brothers who didn't mind his younger sister tagging along. I miss him everyday, but," and here she looked shrewdly at John, "The people who leave us like this aren't ever really gone. They stay with us. Some, well some stay closer than others."

John looked up sharply as he packed up his supplies, She couldn't possibly mean. But Skif had also said that they'd been keeping an eye on him because "he'd" asked them too. John had assumed at the time that Skif had meant Mycroft. But what if….Could Sherlock have survived somehow?

No. John shook the spark of hope from himself quickly, He'd checked his friends pulse, he'd seen the blood. Heck even Molly had confirmed it. Sherlock was dead. He hadn't come this far just to be hurt with the same truth again.

He showed Raven to the door and responded politely to her thank you, before shutting the door after her and sinking into his chair, Head in his hands. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

~With Raven~

Raven started slightly as a hand landed on her shoulder. She'd been expecting him to come as soon as he'd found out whom she'd visited. Didn't mean though that the man didn't walk like a cat, graceful and deadly silent. Slightly desperate eyes, though he would deny that, stared hopefully down at her from the tall figure.

"He's doing fine, Got himself a nice little place. Didn't even ask me any questions really about what happened to me, just fixed me up nice and quick. Though, he does miss you. I really don't understand why you won't go back. You've eliminated most of Moriarty's minions. Is Moran really so dangerous that you refuse to alleviate the grief of your best," at his glare she huffed, "Fine your only friend in this world?"

She already knew the answer though. Sherlock Holmes was nothing if not driven and he wouldn't stop until even Sebastian Moran himself was six, or even twenty feet under. They'd had this argument before and he wouldn't endanger his friend before he was sure there was nothing left of Moriarty's organization to threaten them with.

She shoved him slightly, surprised that he let her,

"If you want to know more you can go talk to him yourself. I'll keep an eye on him but I refuse to be spying on him for you. He's gonna be right angry when he finds out you're still breathing and I don't wanna be in the middle of it!"

She stormed away from him, both of them knowing that she would keep telling him about John Watson. Because she liked both of them and didn't want to see them hurt. Didn't mean she wasn't right though. John was not going to be pleased when he found out. Sometimes she thought that Sherlock was purposefully avoiding that reunion. She knew he had a heart and emotions despite what people said. Still didn't mean that this was right. It was just hurting both of them.

**AN: So...What did you guys think? I do enjoy reviews :) They make my day happier! Thanks for reading.**


	3. Trouble in Paradise

_**Redemption**_

_**Chapter 3: Trouble in Paradise**_

_By: 95_

_****Warnings and disclaimers in first chapter still apply_

The months passed and John found that helping the members of the network that came to his door made his new life more bearable. Yes, they were reminders of his old life, but they weren't all bad reminders.

Like when Owen had stopped by, Owen had been key in finding information on the con artist that was scamming American tourists at London hotels. Now that had been a good case. Sherlock had surprisingly enough been tolerable to be around while solving it, and it had also been one of the really nice one's where no one had died.

Remembering the good times like this had helped him deal with the sharp sting of the grief that still sometimes stabbed at him viscously. His rooms to had seemed to gain light and life. Losing the dark gloom that had always seemed to occupy them. He'd gone out with other doctors from the hospital for a few drinks, and this time had managed to keep it at just a few drinks.

When he walked through the streets of London now, those in the network would call out a greeting as he passed by. More often than not he would stop for a minute or two of conversation. The world seemed like a brighter, lighter place than it had the past year. Despite the cloud cover and rain that had plagued the city for the past week or two.

John smiled, an actual smile with a distinct absence of all bitterness, as he walked down the street adjacent to his flat. A dog barking caused him to stumble slightly in surprise, and he turned slightly to see a dark shadow hurrying deeper into the side alley.

Some instinct drew a shiver down his spine and he almost wished he hadn't left his cane in the flat, as he had been wont to do the past few weeks. He had been back to civilian life for years now but days and nights on the battlefield and running after Sherlock warned him strongly against investigating.

He hesitated at the alley entrance for a few moments, feet shuffling trying to decide which way to go. He glanced down at his hand and noticed a distinct lack of the trembling that had reappeared since Sherlock had fallen. He'd missed this too.

His mind made up he stepped into the alley. Avoiding the large dirty water puddle that covered much of it's entrance, John took careful steps into the alley, eyes scanning the shadows in search of the mysterious figure that had drawn him into the alley. He reached the end of the alley and stared at the coarse faded brick wall in front of him.

Realizing his mistake John spun around quickly, but not quickly enough. Strong arms grabbed him and forced him up against the rough wall. The man's shadowed face leaned in,

"Your little friend has cost me a lot in the past year. Let's just see how he likes being on the receiving end of this little game, shall we?" he hissed in a glaring John's ear. The needle slipped into John's neck and he rapidly slumped to the dirty floor of the alley, unconscious.

Sebastian Moran stood over the prone form of the infamous Dr. John Watson and grinned, a horrifyingly deadly smile, it was finally time for his revenge.

_**AN: Reviews are like candy. Actually that's a lie. Reviews are better than candy! Thanks for reading! 95**_


	4. Messages in Red

_**Redemption**_

_**Chapter 4: Messages in Red**_

_By: 95_

_****Warnings and disclaimers in first chapter still apply_

_The Road So Far:_

"_"Your little friend has cost me a lot in the past year. Let's just see how he likes being on the receiving end of this little game, shall we?" he hissed in a glaring John's ear. The needle slipped into John's neck and he rapidly slumped to the dirty floor of the alley, unconscious. _

_Sebastian Moran stood over the prone form of the infamous Dr. John Watson and grinned, a horrifyingly deadly smile, it was finally time for his revenge. "_

Sherlock ran through the back alleyways of London, hoping to reach his destination in time. Puddles splashed and dirty rank water flew into the air and onto his clothes as he ran on, uncaring. He'd been hunting him for so long. He thought he had known how Moran thought. He'd been so very wrong.

The scene that Moran had left behind had proved to Sherlock just how wrong he could be. Blood spattered and drying on the walls formed one message. An address. One Sherlock himself had never been to, but one that he certainly knew well.

He thought that by leaving John, by faking his own death, that he would be able to keep his only friend safe from this. But Sherlock had failed, and this time he knew it might really cost him everything.

So concentrated on running was he that he actually didn't register the yelling voice right away.

"Jonathan! Jonathan wait!" came a shrewd cry that he knew all to well. There were few that knew the name he had been hiding under for the past year or so. Unfortunately it was reason enough to stop. With regret in every movement he slowed his pace to allow the younger man to catch up.

"What?!" he snapped. Skif stopped a moment to catch his breath, panting heavily he gasped out,

"It's Dr. Watson sir, He went out for a walk and he didn't come back so we went looking. We found this in the alleyway a block or so from the flat." He handed Sherlock a wallet.

Sherlock took it, his brain automatically registering the crease marks on the outside and the stain of oil residue from being handled often. He opened it already knowing what he would see but needing to see it anyway. John's face, more shadowed than he had last seen it stared up at him from a plastic hospital I.D. card. It was empty of all else. Of course it was, Moran wouldn't want him to know anything but what he needed to know. And Sherlock certainly knew enough.

The one man he had "died" to save was gone. Was being held prisoner and probably being tortured by the very man that Sherlock had wanted to save him from. Sherlock was too late. He took a deep breath and looked at Skif with storm clouds and steel in his eyes,

"Take me to the flat, I need to see what I can find," Skif nodded and started to jog but Sherlock's voice stopped him, "Skif? I will find him." Skif looked at him for a second and then nodded his agreement. If anybody could, it would be Sherlock Holmes. With that he lead Sherlock through the winding alleys and to the flat.

John grumbled to himself as he came awake. He had actually forgotten the sensation of being kidnapped and held hostage in the year since Sherlock's death. He blinked his eyes open and scoffed bitterly in appreciation. At least he wasn't in some smelly warehouse or sketchy basement this time. A nice plush carpet cushioned the rickety chair he was attached to. Satin curtains hung from the large windows with a view of the London countryside. Couches and fancy decorations littered the room at intervals. All together a nice place to be. Well it would be if he wasn't tied to a chair, and in the hands of a madman whose intentions as of yet were unclear.

A man stepped into the room, and his mouth broke into a grotesque smile as he noticed that John was conscious.

"Hello John, glad to see you're awake," He motioned to the room around him, "Do you like it? The boss always did have style." he mused as he came to sit on the couch across from John. He leaned forward despite John's glare and removed the gag, which was rather a relief as the thing had tasted rather like cinnamon and sour pickles. John coughed a bit to clear his throat and to try and get the lingering taste out before replying,

"Boss?" he asked. The man scowled at him slightly,

"You honestly don't know? To say that you worked with the great Sherlock Holmes, and you can't even make that simple deduction!" He sneered. John just stared at him patiently, waiting for the answer.

"Jim Moriarty, one of the finest criminals that ever lived. The only one to put an end to Sherlock Holmes, and you don't even remember him?" The man asked.

At the mention of the man who had lead his friend down the path to suicide, John really wished that he could kill the man with his mind alone, knowing he would likely be punished if he didn't, he answered the statement through gritted teeth.

"Of course I remember Moriarty. How could I not remember the man who caused my friend to fall to his death!" He spat out at the man, Angry now. He was surprised when the man laughed, long and loud. John stared at him slightly incredulous and a tiny bit worried until the man calmed down.

"You don't know?" he asked seriously, a small smile sliding across his face when John just stared at him, confused, "You really don't know do you?" He leaned in so close that John could smell his lunch on his breath,

"Your friend, the great Sherlock Holmes, did not die that day. He's alive. And he's left you all alone with only a grave to remember him by. He's spent a year without you finishing off the remains of my bosses organization." Moran looked down at John almost sadly,

"I'm afraid that he really doesn't _need_ you anymore does he? He let you believe he was dead and went off gallantly into the sunset and around the world _without you_ John. I guess you just must have been too _boring_, too _ordinary_ for the man."

John glared valiantly at the man, he didn't want to believe it. Sherlock alive? His heart swelled with hope and tried to battle the crushing words that came out of the man's mouth.

But he always knew that he wasn't good enough for the detective. Surely the Sherlock he knew would have returned for him, would have wanted John to help him? Right?

_**An: So What'd ya think? Reviews make the author happy. Either way though I've got half of chapter 5 written out now so it should be out sometime next week. Thanks for reading! **_

_** 95**_


	5. Trial and Error

_**Redemption**_

_**Chapter 5: Trial and Error**_

_By: 95_

_****Warnings and disclaimers in first chapter still apply_

_***********WARNING: There is Torture in this chapter, nothing too graphic. But you have been warned.********_

_The Road So Far:_

"_Sherlock ran through the back alleyways of London, hoping to reach his destination in time. Puddles splashed and dirty rank water flew into the air and onto his clothes as he ran on, uncaring…. The one man he had "died" to save was gone. Was being held prisoner and probably being tortured by the very man that Sherlock had wanted to save him from. Sherlock was too late."_

""_Your friend, the great Sherlock Holmes, did not die that day. He's alive…. he really doesn't need you anymore does he?" John glared valiantly at the man, But he always knew that he wasn't good enough for the detective. Surely the Sherlock he knew would have returned for him, would have wanted John to help him? Right?"_

Sherlock stared around the empty flat. John's few possessions put away fairly neatly where they belonged. He fingered the scarf that hung from the coat hooks by the door. His old blue one, once he would have scoffed at such sentiment. Now, he was just glad that John did remember, and miss him.

There had been so many times over the past year that he'd found himself within a few blocks of 221B and had to force himself to deviate from his path and reminding himself harshly that it wasn't home anymore and that John wasn't even there. That John had moved on. Now, he was glad that his friend hadn't.

Though he didn't think it would make the man forgive him after a year of thinking he was dead. His mind automatically catalogued the items in the room and their uses as he moved farther inside. Leaving Skif standing awkwardly in the hall.

The rooms were curiously bare, considering the glimpses he had caught of John's room back at Baker Street he had thought that the rooms would have a lot more pictures and, well, light. Regret twisted in his gut as he realized exactly how hard John had taken his death.

The weight of the wallet in his hand brought his mind back to the present. He could apologize to John later, but first he had to find him, preferably before Moran did something too damaging to his friend.

He scoured the flat for an hour looking for anything that might have been left as a clue from Moran, finding nothing he went with Skif leading the way to the alley where John's wallet had been found. Eyes picking up the minute signs of the brief struggle that had taken place.

A small flash of yellow sticking out of a dirt clouded puddle made him pause. It was just a scrap of paper. No bigger than his pinky nail. But it couldn't be that easy, could it?

When he'd first started taking apart Moriarty's minions he'd started on the fringe of what he could find. It had taken him 6 months to actually find Moriarty's main place of business. It was a posh place on the nicer side of London. Once found he'd taken what he'd needed and hadn' t been back. Now he realized that had been a mistake.

However he knew Moran well, it wouldn't be just as simple as barging into the place guns blazing, say a few witty lines, and have John back safe and sound. No Moran was much like Moriarty in that way, he liked his games. His games though were usually not as quick as Jim's they tended to be more messy, and painful physically.

Much as Sherlock hated to admit it, he needed Mycroft's help with this. He could go in alone, but if he wanted to get out of their alive with John also intact. He sighed in frustration. He hated asking his brother for help, With anything.

John's face flashed through his mind and he knew that it had to be done.

Flipping out his phone he entered the number and let it ring.

John glared up at Moran from his vantage point in the tipped over chair. His head throbbed distinctly from where it had hit the floor, and his arms burned from the numerous electric burns that adorned them. Moran grabbed his chair and pulled him upright, he then looked down at the cattle prods, hanging lazily in his hands, for a moment seeming to consider before tossing them off to the side with a clatter, a bored expression on his face.

As he sorted through the various things he had off to the side. John stared down at his bound feet and tried to catch his breath. He remembered now how much he had hated this part of his association with Sherlock. This time though it was doubtful that anyone was out looking for him. Seeing how he'd stalled all attempts at keeping his previous friendships.

John looked up warily as Moran turned back around with a small penknife in hand. He walked up to John and started to cut delicately, forming a shallow curving design into his cheek with each twist of the knife. John grit his teeth and his eyes closed reflexively against the pain, leaving him unprepared for the harsh slap that sent him and his chair toppling back towards the ground.

_**AN: Sorry it's been awhile guys. I'm mostly done with Chapter 6 though so it shouldn't be to long a wait for the next chapter. Thanks for you patience! 95**_


	6. Discovery

**_Redemption_**

**_Chapter 6: Discovery_**

_By: 95_

_****Warnings and disclaimers in first chapter still apply_

_The Road So Far:_

_"Sherlock stared around the empty flat….. Regret twisted in his gut as he realized exactly how hard John had taken his death. … A small flash of yellow sticking out of a dirt clouded puddle made him pause…. Much as Sherlock hated to admit it, he needed Mycroft's help with this…. John's face flashed through his mind and he knew that it had to be done. Flipping out his phone he entered the number and let it ring."_

"_His head throbbed distinctly from where it had hit the floor, and his arms burned from the numerous electric burns that adorned them…. John grit his teeth and his eyes closed reflexively against the pain, leaving him unprepared for the harsh slap that sent him and his chair toppling back towards the ground."_

John groaned in pain, blood flowing down his cheek and neck, as a smirking Moran pulled him and the chair upright. The sound of a door opening caused Moran to drop him backwards and John cried out as his arms were pinned painfully to the ground by the combined weight of the chair and his body. Moran took a step towards the door, knife still in hand, and bullets ripped through the air and slammed into him. John winced as a stray shot dug into the couch beside him.

The firing stopped and black clad figures in protective body armour moved into the room. John's eyes slid shut in relief for a moment before he forced them back open, denying the call of unconciousnes to watch as the figures searched the rest of the rooms in the house.

His eyes had just started to slide shut again in exhaustion, when strong hands started to untie his feet, as others pulled his chair back up to it's original position. Hands gently began to untie the cords that held his now very bruised wrists together. Being careful to avoid the plethora of burns that adorned his upper and lower arms.

John tried to wake himself up enough to be of use, but found his world still to be a bit blurry and disfocused. When he couldn't get rid of the feeling he started to panic, perhaps that hit to the head the last time his chair had fallen over had been harder than he'd thought. His movements jerky and uncoordinated he attempted to stand only to stumble slightly to his left into a tall figure who caught him easily.

"Easy John," the man whispered holding him steady. John's brain took a moment to register the familiar tone and cadence that should have been unmistakable to him, but when he did, he froze and painfully turned his neck to look up at the man who had caught him. The sight, or rather person, he saw made him stagger backwards in disbelief, falling onto the left cushion of the couch that had been near his chair.

John stared at Sherlock for a moment in relief before anger invaded his tired mind. They stared at each other for a few seconds, taking in the changes in the other that had occurred in the past year. The silence stretched to a breaking point,

"John?" Sherlock asked, shattering the quiet of the small bubble of space surrounding the two. He leaned forward slightly as if wanting to reassure himself that John was in fact alright but he held back from moving forward as if sensing his friends explosive feelings. John stared at him wearily trying to find the energy to speak. Lacking it, he looked Sherlock in the eye and just shook his head slowly so as not to aggravate his head and neck further. Knowing that Sherlock would understand, He just couldn't do this right now.

He turned his head at a distant sound, tearing the scabbing that had started to form, on the cut on his cheek, as fresh blood started to trickle down, he smiled slightly in bitter relief as the sirens came closer. Figures Mycroft would take care of everything. He leaned back slightly into the couch, resisting the urge to lie down as he knew the emergency crew would only make him sit back up again to treat him.

Sherlock caught John when he stumbled, and he didn't have to wait long to see the disbelieving look that was shot his way before John moved backwards and onto the couch. They stared at each other for what seemed and eternity, Sherlock habitually taking all the changes his friend had gone through since the last time he had seen him. Sherlock had known it would be bad, had expected John to let himself go a bit, and he knew Moran would not exactly be spewing forth rainbows and kittens, but John looked _bad._

His wrists were bruised horribly from the bindings, a trickle of blood had seeped down from the cut to his head that was swollen quite badly, his cheek was cut and would likely scar. Electrical burns covered his arms, but worst of all was the tired almost defeated look in his friends' eyes. That was what scared Sherlock the most. John was safe now surely he should be relieved, tired yes, but defeated? Everything was over, Sherlock could come home and things could hopefully be just like they once were and John looked defeated instead of relieved or hopeful.

For the first time since this all began with his fall from the rooftop, Sherlock started to doubt that everything would ever be okay again. A loud hiss from John as the medics started to attend to the burns on his arms drew Sherlocks mind from the trail of thought that his mind had followed. He longed to move forward to at least be closer to John, perhaps that would even provide the man some comfort. But given the mans reaction to him earlier, Sherlock wasn't so sure that was a good idea.

"You've been missing for how long, you're finally back with him, and you stand ten feet away watching awkwardly?" A snappish female voice asked from his left and Sherlock sighed and turned to see Raven looking at him with hands on her hips and one scary raised eyebrow.

"He doesn't want to see me right now." He gritted out through clenched teeth suddenly irritated. Raven blinked at him,

"Sure he'll say that, and some part of him probably doesn't. But the bigger part, the part that missed you would probably be damn grateful if you went and just stood over there." She explained, sounding like an exasperated mother who had told her child too many times the reasons why they couldn't have dessert before dinner.

Sherlock glanced nervously, though he would never admit that, over to John and then back to Raven. He glared at her for a second, her death glare coming right back his way, before sighing and moving towards John.

John looked up blearily at him as he came closer, looked torn for a second on whether or not to shoo him away or welcome him. Eventually he settled on a smile and a small wave,

"Hey." He said voice low and hoarse, before closing his eyes slightly and letting the medics keep up their work.

Minutes later John was loaded into the ambulance and Sherlock clambered up with him, one of the medics looked like they were about to protest but a glare had them simply closing the doors and driving away. Sherlock watched as John slept and hoped with every cell in his body that everything would be okay.

**AN: Sorry this chapter took so long guys, hope you liked it, reviews are nice, other than that have a wonderful rest of the day/evening/morning/whatever depending on where you are. :) 95**


	7. Awkward Reunions

**"Redemption" **

**By: 95**

**Chapter 7: Awkward Reunions**

***Warnings and Disclaimer are the same as they were in the first chapter.**

Sherlock sat in one of those classic uncomfortable hospital chairs that stood the closest to John's bedside in the private hospital wing that Mycroft had insisted upon. Though he supposed John would be happy for it when he finally woke up. Machine's beep and Sherlock's eyes trailed up to the heart monitor every few minutes as if to assure himself that his friend was really alright and only sleeping. Though the slow rise and fall of the man's chest also confirmed this as well. It had been 2 days and they had kept John drugged the whole time to give him time to heal a bit, in some respects his friend looked better now than he had when Sherlock had first seen him tied to the chair in Moriarty's base those few short days ago.

He was still a far cry from the strong man that Sherlock had last seen before he fell, at least physically, and Sherlock knew emotionally as well, only time could fix both. He only hoped that John would give him the chance to aid in his recovery, to show how sorry he was, and he really truly did regret what he had had to do to protect the man. A shadow crossed the window and he looked up to see Mycroft standing regally outside looking in with what seemed a stern expression on his face. Sherlock could see concern though lingering behind that though, worry evident in the frown lines that adorned his brothers face and in the slight slump of his shoulder and only a bit less than immaculate suit and demeanor. Sherlock huffed slightly in annoyance before rising from the chair, muscles and joints creaking and protesting the movement after so long sitting in said chair. He joined his brother in the hallway,

"What do you want?" He snapped quietly mindful of John sleeping in the other room. If Mycroft were anyone else he would have rolled his eyes in annoyance, but as it was his jaw only clenched slightly in agitation as he responded,

"I thought you would like to know that any remaining threats to Dr. Watson's safety have been removed and Mrs. Hudson has been alerted that the two of you may be moving back in when John is healed if that is what the two of you decide upon." Sherlock spared a quick glance to the figure in the bed before sighing slightly in worry, shoulders slumping, showing weakness that only the two men nearest to him would ever see.

"I thought that once he saw me and knew that I was alive, that he'd be angry, but I never once thought that he would not accept me back with open arms," He looked again to the man in the bed, looking both fragile and strong at the same time as only John could do, "Now I just don't know. He didn't seem to want to see me, and I have no idea as to what his reaction will be upon awakening."

Mycroft pursed his lips and shifted slightly bringing the umbrella to rest in his other hand the metal tip tapping slightly on the ground as he did so, He looked at John for a long moment before sighing in exasperation,

"I do not know what to tell you Sherlock, absurd as that idea may seem to you, a relationship like you have with John has never been something I held interest in or even contemplated to be possible for someone such as us before you two met. What will come of it, will come, and you must respect his decision Sherlock, no matter what it may be."

Sherlock glared wishing that his brother did not speak the truth, even though he knew that he did. Mycroft slid his phone out of his pocket as it went off.

"What? Yes I see. I will be there shortly. Don't touch anything." He snapped into the phone before ending the call and looking to Sherlock something akin to apology in his stance. Sherlock gave into the childish urge and rolled his eyes,

"Go. They wouldn't call if it wasn't important." The silent agreement to never mention this conversation again was unsaid but still very much there. The Holmes brothers cared for each other, but it only showed when it had to.

John blearily opened his eyes, mind foggy, meaning he was on some form of pain killer. Wonderful. He noticed the two figures standing outside his door and blinked in shock before the memories came flooding back in. Sherlock was alive. He'd been tortured because of this fact and would likely bear scars and the road to recovery would be long because of the fact that his friend was alive. But, Sherlock was alive!

The happiness lasted about two seconds though before being buried beneath white hot righteous anger. John had grieved, had mourned his best friend, he had to live without him and try to carry on the memory of Sherlock as he had been despite the vicious words the media had spewed forth for months after his supposed demise. What right did Sherlock have to go gallivanting off somewhere by himself doing God knows what and leaving John alone to grieve and try to pick up the pieces of his life?!

Logically John knew that Sherlock likely had very good reason for doing his, but logic was buried with the happy feelings as the anger grew and simmered the longer he watched the duo speak.

Mycroft eventually left and Sherlock turned to re-enter the room stopping in shock as he saw that John was awake. He entered the room more fully and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound horrible or clichéd. John seemed to solve the problem for him though with a gritted out

"Sherlock." That sounded extremely angry and no parts relieved to see him.

"Hello John." He settled on, not wanting to move any farther until he was sure of the welcome he was going to get, going by the clenching of John's jaw and his white knuckles it wasn't going to be very welcome at all.

**AN: I know Sherlock might seem a bit out of character right now but he is also dealing with something like this situation for the first time in his life, someone he actually is friends with and cares about a lot is angry with him for very valid reasons and he is not really sure how to handle it. Sorry about the awkward stopping point too but I have a lot planned for the next chapter so I decided to end it here.**


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